


Polyglot

by AwayLaughing



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Deanon, Discrimination, Gen, History, Introspection, Kink Meme, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-25
Updated: 2011-03-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 06:23:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America speaks a lot of languages. Idea is credited to OP of the original prompt (which I do not have the link to, sorry).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polyglot

America knows a lot of languages.

He knows the language of victorious people. He can easily interpret the the sound of the victory shot from all shots in the battle field. He can easily hear the victory chants and shouts and songs from across streets, or fields, or miles or oceans or continents. He can communicate in that victorious language as well as any of his children. He knows the language of victory well, but he knows others too.

America knows the language of a defeated people. He knows the sound of the losing shot from all the other shots in the battle field. America is more than familiar with the moans and groans of dying men. He knows the sobs of a wife, and of mother, and of brothers and sisters and of children, as they mourn. He knows the sound of a final night, knows how to speak with it, knows how to scream and cry for the fallen just as well as his children (“remember Alfred, you'll cry one tear for every soldier, and one for every family too...”). America knows the language just of defeat as well as the first, but he knows others too.

America knows the language of betrayal. America knows the sound of a hesitant shot, as one looks into the eyes of their own brother or father. More importantly, even a midst the noise of the battle field, America knows the silence of a shot that one simply can not make, as they look into the eyes of their brother or father. America knows the pleads of siblings as they try to stop one another (“stop this Alfred, please just stop this”.... “I will Mattie, just come with me, please just come with me”), and the sobs of a mother as her children tear each other apart (oh God...the Koreas...). America knows the language of betrayal, but he knows others too.

America knows the language of living. He knows all the dialects, including hate and love and jealousy and generosity. More than that, America knows all the silent languages of his children, all the things with don't use words but have a huge vocabulary. America knows the language of living, but he knows others too.

America knows all his children's languages. He knows Mandarin and Cantonese, he can speak Spanish and Mexican-Spanish, he can speak Cajun and true French, he can speak German and Polish and Italian and Korean and Japanese and so many other, even if he's not very good. America knows a lot of languages.

But as America sits here, with his brother, he feels all those languages disappear. He listens to the words “I lost my talk. The talk you took away, when I was a little girl...” and feels the tears come, feels the language of betrayal and defeat as it pours from those around him. “You snatched it away: I speak like you, I think like you, I create like you...”, and feels bitter, another one of those living languages he knows so well.

America knows a lot of languages, but he doesn't know this one, the language of his first children.

**Author's Note:**

> I lost my talk  
> The talk you took away.  
> When I was a little girl  
> At Shubenacadie school.
> 
> You snatched it away:  
> I speak like you  
> I think like you  
> I create like you  
> The scrambled ballad, about my world.
> 
> Two ways I talk  
> Both ways I say,  
> Your way is more powerful.
> 
> So gently I offer my hand and ask,  
> Let me find my talk  
> So I can teach you about me.
> 
> \-- Rita Joe, a Canadian Mi'kmaq's reflection on what the residential schools did to her people.


End file.
